Part 5 (2/2)
”Yes.”
”Tom should have some more pictures to show us, from our visit to Johnny's place last night.”
s.h.i.+t. I forgot all about her and the girls going back to the scene of the original crime. Tom must've tagged along, too.
”How'd that go?” I asked, allowing my tone to brighten. Sound really interested, I told myself, d.a.m.n it. ”I meant to ask about it this morning at breakfast.”
”You forgot all about it, hon,” she replied, more gently than she could've done.
Yes, I should've mentioned it. But, no, I didn't completely forget about it.... Okay, maybe it slipped my mind after the a.s.shole driving the van chased me home. Either way, it seemed pointless skirting around half-truths when dealing with my psychic better half. Living with someone like her can be tougher than the fantasy some guys might have. I love her dearly, so I've learned to adjust. Obviously, learning continues.
”We couldn't get as close to the house as I would've liked, since the police tape is there. But we picked up a few things on video and audio,” she continued, her tone steadily brightening. ”Tom already called me with an update-some of the still shots have unusual stuff going on, too.”
”And he's bringing the pics to show us tonight?”
My tone also perked up. I was immediately intrigued to see the images captured from last night. Most investigations turn up nothing, even if everything feels creepy as h.e.l.l. We often get empty shots and blank recordings from a night out 'spook chasing'. The best pictures and audio evidence come when you least expect it. I guess ghosts are pranksters too.
”Yes, he promised,” she said. ”Hopefully, we'll also get something tonight...something that has nothing to do with what's recently happened.”
”I hope so, babe.”
I'm sure I sounded sincere this time, and no effort to do so. My heart ached for her pain. Wish I could just suck it out of her, like some venomous poison. Time can be a real b.i.t.c.h when you'd like things to not take so long. But I know true healing requires time, sometimes lots of it.
Ms. Knowles took her seat next to mine, and Dennis motioned that she was ready to go over her most recent call recordings.
I told Fiona, reluctantly, that I had to go. At least she knows I'm totally jazzed about our evening plans. Just a few hours until I'll meet her at the Franklin Chophouse for dinner with the gang, I a.s.sured her I'd be there by five-thirty, Friday night traffic willing.
As I prepared to sit down at my desk, Shakarra offered a wink and a seductive smile.
d.a.m.n I forgot my shades, and the flirtatious advances for the day were in full swing. I almost never perform a one on one session without em'. Left the suckers back in the conference room, I bet. d.a.m.ned Mel Gibson blue eyes... such sapphire pools of illicit temptation. Forced to ignore subtle comments and not so subtle dreamy-eyed stares, five o'clock couldn't get there fast enough.
Chapter Ten.
”I thought we'd get to see you all dressed up!”
Justin sounded disappointed, but his impish smile said otherwise.
”I brought a change of clothes in my duffle,” I told him, moving over to the long table where everyone was seated. Our regular meeting place at the Franklin Chophouse. Great food and quiet ambience. ”Sorry, dude, but I wore my clown outfit for as long as I could stand. Wish I could've split right after the circus left town.”
”Jimmy looks just fine dressed the way he is!” gushed Jackie, who looked over at Fiona. My wife motioned for me to sit beside her, next to Justin, who commanded the table's head spot.
Fine indeed. My chosen apparel tonight: faded Wranglers and a tight black T-s.h.i.+rt, and my hair set free, bouncing off my shoulders as I stepped through the room. My boot heels clicking along the wooden floor, I fancied myself for a moment as a modern-day cowboy, or better yet, a long-lost member of Metallica.
”Well, s.h.i.+t-t-t-t....I guess we ain't gonna get no P.I.E. from Dog the Bounty Hunter tonight after all, huh?”
Justin laughed, his taunt pointed more at my employer's fondness for silly acronyms that represent...well, corporate silliness. P.I.E. stands for 'Performance, Image, Exposure', and is what Senior Leaders.h.i.+p uses to evaluate an employee's promote-ability. Yep, there's another word from corporate America that isn't really a word, and it's used to support a subjective concept to evaluate talent. Not to mention talking about how good or bad 'pie' is can get a dude in a lot of trouble when referring to the females I work with.
After a dexterous handshake with Justin, I took my place next to my wife, sharing a warm kiss scented by the Zinfandel she sipped on. I nodded to the rest of the gang with Angie and Jackie across from me and Tony and Tom huddled at the table's other end, apparently looking over the photos from last night's investigation.
”I've decided to try the smothered chop steak that Fi likes so much,” Justin announced, nodding toward Fiona.
”Good choice!” she beamed. ”We've already ordered, and I think you said you wanted the usual, too, when you called me from the highway.”
”Yeah, I did.”
Just as big a fan of the Chophouse specialty my wife prefers, I wasn't sure she'd heard me right. Garbled conversation for the most part, despite my Bluetooth connection on the bike, made me think I'd have to reorder once I arrived. That saves some valuable time ...we should get out to the Carnton Plantation just before it starts to get dark.
”So, Tom...Fiona told me earlier that you guys captured some pretty cool stuff last night.”
He looked up at me and then motioned for Tony to be silent. I guess he's still smarting from last night's upstage.
”Maybe,” he said. ”Another dryer-hose image showed up in a photograph taken near the back door at Johnny and Brenda's place.”
”What about the image of the face in the kitchen window?” asked Jackie, her tone a little indignant. ”Fiona showed us the facial features, like a prominent nose and strong brow, remember?”
I a.s.sumed they must be talking about Johnny's spirit possibly hanging around the murder scene. h.e.l.l, it's still his and Brenda's house, until their next-of-kin figures out what to do with the place. That is, once the police finally remove the yellow tape from the home's entrances. The 'dryer-hose' reference of Tom's is investigator lingo for spirit evidence in light forms, strongly resembling the hose on the back of a standard clothes dryer. Just goes to show how non-scientific our field is. It's not like someone can go to college and get a degree in paranormal investigation techniques. At least not yet.
”It might not be anything we can prove,” offered Tony, when Tom merely shrugged his shoulders and went back to view the pictures under a magnifier he brought with him. ”Remember the faces we've seen before that turned out to be just weird light reflections?”
”Yes,” she sighed, looking over at Angie, before the two women looked over at Fiona.
”He's right,” Fiona conceded. ”But, why not let Jimmy take a look at the pictures anyway? Who knows...he might see something else we've missed.”
True. It's sort of my forte. Other than Fiona's keen eye, I've found more faint anomalies than anyone else in the group.
Tom handed the pack to Tony and he gave it to Angie, who pa.s.sed it on to Fiona. Why Angie didn't just give it directly to me...well whatever. Fiona handed the pictures to me, and asked Tom to lend me his magnifier. Just then our food arrived.
While everyone was being served their dinner entrees, I scanned through the pictures. I readily believed the dryer-hose shots were legitimate evidence of something paranormal. Especially one photograph, where the image bore reddish and yellow hues along its edges. It was solid in its consistency too. That's something we look for.
As for the image in the window...d.a.m.n, it really did look like a face. But I sincerely hoped it wasn't. It looked an awful lot like Johnny...his face, full of anguish and acute sorrow.
I shuddered.
For the first time ever, the smothered chop steak didn't quite hit the spot. I couldn't quit thinking about the photo and how Johnny and Brenda looked when I last saw them...weeping bullet wounds and intense terror, while the blood-halo around Candi's surprised expression spread across the kitchen floor.
The Carnton Plantation is probably Middle Tennessee's biggest Civil War tourist attraction. One of its esteemed owners, Carrie McGavock, played a gallant role in the historic Battle of Franklin. Credited with offering her home up as a military hospital, she later took it upon herself to recover hundreds of individual soldiers who were buried in ma.s.s trenches on her property. Successful in identifying many of these fallen heroes of the Confederacy, they are interred within the graveyard she created for them, sectioned by the southern regiments they represented going into the battle.
This brings us to our nefarious ambitions tonight.
Well, maybe that's a bit strong. More accurately...we are gathered in the graveyard afterhours. After dark. After the Plantation tourist center has closed up and the Carnton's employees have gone home for the day.
We're trespa.s.sing. Violators of Franklin's penal code.
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